Tremors of Fate
by chocolatelova
Summary: Seiken Densetsu 3. Four young heroes struggle to save the world from the brink of destruction. But first, they must save themselves...from their own demons, and from each other.
1. A Guild for a Kingdom

Author's Note: A quasi-novelization of Seiken Densetsu 3. Or, perhaps more accurately, a remake of SD3 in story format. There was so much potential for character development, I just couldn't resist! Oh and just so you know - I'm giving myself a great deal of liberty with plot structure and progression.

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**Tremors of Fate**

**Chapter 1**

**A Guild for a Kingdom**

-

The night was silent except for the sound of running footsteps muffled by sand. Two armored men and a man-sized feline were led by a lavender-haired man across the sands of the Navarre Desert. The wind was constant and would hide their tracks, and their dark clothing made them difficult to spot in the moonless night. The air shivered from lack of sun, but Hawk didn't even feel the cold. He was too delirious with the exhilaration of heisting one of the wealthiest and most corrupt men of Sultan.

-

"_THIEF!!"_

Like sand-dusted beasts awakening from their slumber, the windows of the squat buildings neighboring the rich merchant's house lit up with the flames of oil lamps. A guard's whistle sounded shrilly through the night air.

On the threshold between the bedroom and the balcony, a young man in a bronze tunic slung a heavy sack over his shoulder. "This should keep us fed for, oh, a good two months or so," he said, addressing a man in the bedroom whose face was nearly as round as his belly. The thief picked up a gold piece that had fallen to the floor, spun it in the air, and caught it. "Thanks a million."

"You'll hang for this," the sheik huffed, climbing half-in and half-out of bed, trying to be intimidating but afraid to approach the thief. "You hear that, thief? I'm a powerful man, and I will have you hang."

To his surprise, the young man burst out laughing. "_Thief?_ That's rich. What about the 'gifts' that the artisans pay you just to operate in the city? Or maybe the extra bit of pocket money that the vizier slips you under the table? If I'm a thief, what does that make you?"

The man's face, already a dark mahogany tinged with pink, turned an even darker shade of maroon. "You little—you'll pay—" he blubbered before finally bellowing, "_Thief!!_ Guards! There's a thief in my room!"

By this time, the thief had crossed the balcony and was perched on top of the wall. "Takes one to know one!" he yelled back, and leaped.

He broke his fall with a somersault, making sure to keep a tight grip on the sack. Barely even pausing to scan the shadows, he darted into a side street where two men were waiting, their faces wrapped in dark cloth like nomads. Hawk wordlessly handed over the sack to one of the ninjas, and they hurried through the alleys for the eastern city gate.

To Hawk's relief, the guards at the gate were slumped against to each other by a pile of barrels. A humanoid feline was crouched next to them, rummaging through a large burlap bag. "Good work, Nikita," Hawk whispered, but the blue-gray cat remained focused on his task. "Nikita?"

Nikita produced two gourd flasks and took a swig from one. He grimaced. "No wonder this wine was so cheap. Tastes like horse piss." Then he dribbled some wine on the guards' uniforms and set the gourds next to them. "The finishing touch," he said proudly.

Just then, there was a clamor of whistles and shouts down the main road. "Time to run," Hawk said, and the four of them escaped into the desert night, swallowed up by the darkness.

-

The Navarre sand fortress had once been a natural network of caves that had formed in the mesas of the Navarre desert. The caves had been carved out over the eons by a lake that drained through the porous rock when the desert was still a lush forest. But when the God-beasts ravaged the land, the forest began to die from Xan Bie's withering touch. The lake dried out and left behind its channels in the hollowed-out rock. Eventually the God-beasts were sealed away by the Mana Goddess, but by then, the desert had completely consumed the forest and the entire southeastern part of the continent Eztia.

Thousands of years later, man colonized the desert, kept alive by the oases that had sprung up where the Goddess had treaded. However, resources were so sparse and so precious that those who controlled them learned to use them for profit and personal gain. A wise man who had grown tired of the corruption led a band of followers to the desert to seek enlightenment and refuge. They discovered the hidden network of caves and fashioned it to their liking. They spent years in meditation and practicing self-discipline. The wise man learned the art of controlling fire with his spirit, and his power became so great that he became known as the Flame Khan. Then one day, the Flame Khan had a vision that revealing to him that the rulers of Sultan were beyond redemption and he was instructed to destroy them—not by force, but by the very means they used to destroy others. Thus, the Thieves' Guild of the Navarre Desert was born.

That was over five-hundred years ago. A new Flame Khan was appointed by the old one when he became too feeble to continue his leadership. The members of the guild were either born into it or drawn to its cause, which now included a little self-indulgence when they could afford it—which was more often than not. Some simply liked the adventure, others sought to execute their own brand of justice. But one thing they had in common was their hatred and disdain for the rulers of Sultan and monarchy in general. Which was why Hawk was so perplexed at Flamekhan's behavior when he returned.

As Hawk displayed his spoils in the reception hall, the khan said nothing and only stared at him with glassy eyes. Next to him was Isabella, his advisor, a mysterious woman who wrapped herself in purple silk. Her presence always made Hawk tread cautiously. No one really knew who she was or where she had come from, except that she was the princess of a distant kingdom who had been exiled and sold as a slave in Sultan. Six months ago, Navarre ninjas Bill and Ben rescued her from the clutches of the slavetrader who had kept her for his own pleasure. Since then, she had been involved herself in planning the raids on Sultan, and her tactics had been so shrewd that Flamekhan eventually sought her counsel in everything—including, rumor had it, what went on behind his bedroom doors. Her influence could be felt in every decision he made. So it was no surprise when Hawk found her reclining next to Flamekhan.

What surprised him was what came next. "I have an announcement to make," Isabella said. "Flamekhan has declared that the Thieves' Guild of the Navarre Desert will now be known as the Kingdom of Navarre. Every man who can handle a blade is a soldier of Lord Flamekhan's royal army. Our first mission is to invade the neighboring Kingdom of Rolante and obtain the power of their Mana Stone."

Only then did Hawk realize that there was an unusual number of thieves and ninjas in the reception hall. "What the he—" he began to say, but was interrupted by Isabella.

"Generals," she said crisply, "we will convene in the meeting room to discuss our strategy."

The hall emptied, and Hawk was left alone with a sack full of gold and a head full of questions.

-

From a window high in the mesa, Hawk gazed out at the dark, silent desert. Faint light from the windows below softly illuminated the steppes, and he could just make out the dark, huddled shapes of the watchguards. Guards who were now soldiers in the army of a new kingdom. A kingdom that was little more than a band of thieves who existed solely to undermine the rulers around them. It was absurd.

Someone padded up the stairs behind him, and he caught the scent of agave flowers. Jessica. Flamekhan's daughter and his best friend's sister. She was two years younger than his twenty, and it seemed that only yesterday she was a girl who threaded flowers in her hair and giggled with the girls who had grown up with her. Now she was on the brink of womanhood, and Hawk had begun to notice her. She still wore flowers in her hair, delicate white blossoms on deep blue tresses, and the hue of her similarly blue dress set off the bronze of her skin. A pendant, an aquamarine set in silver, glittered from around her neck. When they were younger, he had tolerated her presence when he and Eagle went about making mischief—although Eagle, being the older brother, frequently resented it. In recent days, though, he looked forward to seeing her. When she wasn't around, he sometimes even missed her.

"Is something on your mind, Hawk?" she asked, coming to his side.

Hawk sighed. Though her presence normally calmed him—was that her effect on him, then?—nothing could settle his uneasy mood. "The same thing that's one everyone's mind," he said. "I don't understand it, Jessica. Flamekhan has always hated kings and kingdoms. Why would he declare us a kingdom all of a sudden? That's…that's insane."

But instead of sympathizing with him, Jessica frowned. "Please, Hawk, don't talk about my father that way."

Oops. However logical his argument, she probably didn't like hearing her father criticized so harshly. "Well, what do you think?" he said a little less heatedly. "It doesn't make sense. How long has he been planning this for?"

Jessica shook her head. "I don't know. This is the first I've heard of it. But he must have his reasons. We can't hide in the desert forever."

"But the desert is our home. _Your _home. We've lived here for centuries, and we're the only thing standing in the way between the rulers of Sultan and the complete corruption of Eztia. And now Flamekhan wants to invade _Rolante_? What is he thinking?"

"I don't know," Jessica said, wringing her hands, clearly distraught. "I'm sure father has a good reason for this. I mean, being a kingdom won't be as exciting as being a guild, but at least we'll be able to live like normal people. I'll know what it's like to grow up like a normal girl."

More frustrating than the khan's illogical decision was his daughter's defense of his illogical decision. His daughter, who should know him better than anyone! How could she possibly be so accepting? And what of Isabella, who had captured her father's attention from the start? There was nothing right about any of this. For some reason, the cool blue gleam of Jessica's necklace irritated Hawk. Then he remembered. Isabella had given it to her for her eighteenth birthday. "You're just excited about becoming a princess, aren't you?" he said coldly before he could stop himself.

Jessica looked as though she had been slapped. The next thing he saw was the flat of her hand and his head snapped back with the force of the blow. She ran down the stairs, leaving Hawk to rub his face and regret ever opening his mouth. Of course she believed in the khan. He was her father. Hawk had no right to try to make her agree with him. He started to hurry after her, to apologize, but halted in the middle of the stairs. No, he should give her time to cool off, especially when he himself could not be calm about this. He had to find Eagle. Her brother was older than either of them and much less naïve than his sister. Maybe Eagle knew what was going on.

As Hawk searched the fortress, he passed one of Jessica's tutors, a graying man in a green tunic. "I saw Jessica run to her room. She was crying," the man said. His stern look was accusing: _You made her cry, didn't you?_ "You stay away from her, Hawk."

"I'm looking for Eagle," he said, just calmly enough and sidestepping the man's insinuation. "Do you know where he might be?"

"I do not," the tutor replied curtly. "Now, if you will excuse me."

Hawk made his way to the east end of the fortress and knocked on Eagle's door. One of the servants mentioned seeing Eagle enter his room half an hour ago. With any luck, he would still be there.

A man with long blond hair gathered at the nape of his neck answered the door. "Hawk—" he began.

Hawk grabbed him by the shoulders. "Eagle, you have to tell me what's going on. The Flame Khan has gone mad!"

Eagle thoughtfully regarded his friend. "So I'm not the only one who thinks something's not right. I'm glad you came by, Hawk. No one else seems bothered by my father's actions."

Hawk was overcome with relief. At last, someone who would listen, someone who might have answers. Eagle waved him inside and shut the door. As soon as the latch clicked, Hawk said, "Do you think it's her?"

Both men knew that "her" could only mean one person: Isabella. "Ever since she arrived, things have been changing," Eagle said slowly. "The raids have become more risky. We've been targeting more artifacts and infiltrating higher security houses and strongholds. But father was still the same person. He was still anti-Sultan and anti-monarchy. Today, though…he's been…different."

Hawk nodded. "When I was giving my report, he seemed different as well. Confused. Almost…not quite there. And Isabella was the one who did all the talking. Do you think…?"

Eagle cursed and angrily slammed his fist against the wall. "Dammit! I knew that harlot was going to be trouble the moment she set foot in the fortress. I bet she's one of those witches from Altena. We've got to stop her, and warn father."

The two friends set off in search of the khan, but neither he nor Isabella was anywhere to be found. There was one place they had not looked, however.

"Flamekhan? He retired to his chambers—with Isabella," one guard informed them. "I wouldn't disturb them if I were you."

The thieves exchanged glances, and Eagle said, "I need to talk to him immediately. It's important."

The guard looked uncertain, but he was unable to deny the Flame Khan's son. He moved to open the door, but to his relief, Eagle stopped him. "I'll handle it. Stay out here."

He and Hawk stepped quietly into the antechamber. The door to the main bedchamber was slightly ajar. They heard voices, low and soft, male and female. They moved closer to the door and peered inside.

The view of the room was not very good from where they stood. The large canopied bed was off to the side, its drapes and curtains obscuring a sizable section of the room. Hawk could see the folds of Isabella's silk skirts on the far side of the bed where she was sitting. Only Flamekhan's sandaled feet were visible from behind the drapery. The voices whispered and laughed. There was a chill to the air despite the glowing fireplace. Hawk shivered. Did the khan always keep his room so cold?

Isabella rose from the bed, but the drapes still hid her face from view. She seemed to be talking to Flamekhan, who still had not moved. They could hear her a little better, but Flamekhan's voice remained indistinct and was unusually deep.

"...going according to…Rolante tomorrow," Isabella said, fragments of sentences drifting to her unseen listeners. "…lowered the barrier…waiting for so long…our revenge…"

Hawk frowned. Something was off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Why was the Flame Khan just lying there? Why the need to whisper? And what was this talk of revenge?

Why was the room was so cold?

Isabella moved back and a figure clad in dark robes stepped into view. It wore a flowing cape so black that it seemed to suck the light out of the room. Its hands were white claws and the face was pale like the belly of something that had never been touched by the light of day. Red-rimmed eyes were set so deep in its gaunt face that they almost looked sunken.

Before Hawk could react, Eagle rushed to confront Isabella. "What sorcery is this?" he demanded. "Bewitching my father and summoning demons into our home!" With a sharp sound of steel, Eagle drew his sword. "The pleasure of taking that head off your shoulders will be mine alone," he said grimly.

The man in the cape—Hawk had decided it was a man, after all—only smirked, a wrinkling of his paper-thin skin. "I trust you can handle this on your own, hmm?"

Isabella sniffed. "These children? Easier than trampling an insect."

"Do not disappoint me," the man said. A column of smoke suddenly erupted from the ground, and he was gone.

Full of rage, Eagle charged Isabella with his sword, but when she raised her hand, he suddenly stopped short. Hawk, who had drawn his own knives, hesitated. "Eagle?"

Eagle did not answer. Isabella began to chant, a melodic string of syllables that Hawk could not comprehend. The sound of it was beautiful, but a knife began to twist itself uneasily in his gut. His friend's shoulders became broader as his features coarsened—his long, regal nose flattened and his brow began to protrude, a bony ridge overshadowing his eyes.

"Hawk," Eagle struggled to say, "Stay…away…" Fingernails turned into claws, and his skin took on a dusky blue hue.

"Eagle, what's happening to you?" Hawk said, horrified.

"Get away…from…me," Eagle almost growled. "Get out…NOW!"

Snarling, Eagle leapt and viciously slashed at him. Hawk tumbled out of the way and crouched in the corner. "Eagle, get a hold of yourself! That bitch cast a spell on you!"

But Eagle would not listen. With the single-mindedness of an enraged beast, he continued to attack his friend. Hawk dodged his sword, but not as quickly as he would have liked. Eagle's transformation made him quicker and more agile, and he swung his sword around like it weighed nothing at all. Soon dodging was no longer adequate; Hawk was tiring from the acrobatics and ended up being forced to parry Eagle's blows.

Eagle made a slash at his knees, which Hawk barely caught at the tip of his knife. A shudder went through the blade and up Hawk's arm, and the impact forced Hawk to drop the knife. He saw Eagle raise his sword for another go and somersaulted out of the way.

_I can't keep this up forever_, he thought, trying to shake the feeling back into his hand. _The only way to stop this is to go for the source_. Hawk ran around the bed and lunged for Isabella. He grabbed her by the neck and pointed the tip of his remaining knife at her chin. "If you don't change him back," he said, breathing heavily from exertion, "If you don't change him back, I'll kill you."

"I wouldn't if I were you," she said calmly. Too calmly. Her eyes moved to the bed, and Hawk followed her gaze. In her hand was a knife whose blade rested on the neck of the unconscious khan. Hawk's knife, the one he dropped. How had she retrieved it so quickly?

"If you kill me, the blame of both our deaths will be upon you. If you survive." Her eyes narrowed at something past his shoulder. "Which it doesn't seem you will."

Too late, Hawk realized that by cornering Isabella, he had also backed himself into a corner. He threw himself against the wall in an attempt to move out of Eagle's path, but the edge of the sword sliced through his tunic, gashing his chest. It was a superficial wound, but as blood began to soak his shirt, Hawk knew he could not sustain many more without losing too much blood. He caught Eagle's next blow where the blade of his knife met the hilt. It took every ounce of strength he had to keep Eagle at bay. The fiend in his friend's clothing opened its jaws and roared, and in that moment, Hawk realized that this was not Eagle. Eagle was gone, and he was not coming back. Isabella was not going to bring him back. Hawk was left with little choice—to kill or be killed. Which was what Isabella had intended from the beginning.

With one hand, Hawk wrapped his hand around Eagle's blade, ignoring the pain as the razor-sharp edge sliced into his palm. The blade dug deeper as pushed the sword back and whipped his knife free. "Eagle…forgive me," he whispered, and plunged his knife deep into Eagle's belly.

The fiend staggered and gasped, a strangled sound that made gooseflesh rise on Hawk's arms. It yanked the knife out and a spot of red appeared on its green shirt, which soon became soaked with crimson. Its body seemed to grow smaller, and suddenly it was human again—it was Eagle again.

"Eagle!" Hawk cried as his friend slumped to the floor.

Eagle coughed, and blood welled up from his mouth. He saw Hawk and smiled weakly. "You should have…run…away…but…as always…you never…listen…to me…"

"Don't talk," Hawk said anxiously. "We'll get you to a healer. You'll be all right."

"That's what you think," said a cool female voice.

Isabella! Hawk had nearly forgotten about her. "After I take care of you," he growled, knife in hand.

She began chanting again, but Hawk was already on his feet. He was not going to let her get away with it this time. To his surprise, however, a flame appeared in her hand. It streamed through the air and he quickly ducked out of the way. When Eagle cried out, Hawk realized too late that it had not been meant for him. Eagle clawed at his chest, the tendons of his neck taught with the strain of internal agony. His body stiffened and shuddered as it racked with pain before finally falling limp.

"Eagle!" Hawk said desperately. He shook his friend's shoulders, but Eagle remained still. "_Eagle!!_"

The double doors to the bedchamber burst open, and Hawk found himself face-to-face with several spear points. Isabella, who had fallen to the floor, was helped to her feet by one of the guards. "Thank the Goddess that you arrived in time," she said breathlessly, clinging to the guard for support. "This lout here, this traitor, tried to assassinate us from the shadows. When Eagle found out he was a Sultan spy, he tried to kill us all. Eagle died trying to protect us."

The captain of the guard, a burly man with a copper beard, looked long and hard at Hawk. He had trained Hawk in the arts thievery and ninjustu, and now his student was crouched before him, covered in the blood of a dead man. Finally, he said, "The Kingdom of Navarre has no tolerance for spies, much less murderers."

"But—but I didn't kill him!" Hawk protested heatedly.

A tall blond guard—Martel, who had been Hawk's sparring buddy—jutted the point of his spear uncomfortably under Hawk's chin. "Do you take us for fools, traitor? We may have been blind to your dealings, but anyone can see that you have murdered the man who considered you his closest friend."

Hawk grabbed the end of the spear and pushed it away. "I can tell you exactly what happened if you'll just listen to me—"

But Hawk's presumptuous action made Martel incensed. Whirling his spear around, he shoved the butt into Hawk's chest. "Silence, traitor!" he boomed.

There was a flash of pain as the spear dug into Hawk's injured chest, and the last thing Hawk remembered before passing out was his head smacking hard against the cold, hard floor.


	2. Truth and Betrayal

Author's note: No pairings are permanent at this point. I have ideas for things to come, but that is always subject to change ;)

-

**Tremors of Fate**

**Chapter 2**

**Truth and Betrayal**

-

At first, there was silence. The feel of something hard under his back, a pinching soreness in his lower back and shoulder blades. He was breathing, but deep breaths kind of hurt. Then his head. Oh, his head. It felt like it was being squeezed by a tight metal band, and the pounding behind his eyes was relentless.

Hawk slowly opened his eyes. The lighting was dim, but it still made his vision tear. He covered his face with his good hand and peered between the fingers. The ceiling and walls were soft sandstone, just like the other chambers of the fortress. He seemed to be lying on a bench by the wall, and he immediately knew he was in a cell from the metal bars that separated his enclosure from the hall. He closed his eyes. It was no less than expected. Sentenced as a murderer, he would be stripped of his possessions, taken far into the desert, and left there to fend for himself. He would die of exposure, thirst, or at the claws of wild beasts—whichever came first. And as with spies, they would cut off his tongue or put out his eyes first. Unless Flamekhan was willing to listen to Hawk. But Flamekhan had been enchanted by the woman who desired Hawk's silence the most.

With great difficulty, he pulled himself up, slouching rather awkwardly against the wall. The wound in his chest throbbed underneath the bandages wrapped tightly around him. Someone had taken great care to dress his left hand, as well, which felt like it was three times bigger than normal. He must have been taken to Joveena, one of the guild's medics, known for her meticulous handiwork. Surprising that she should take so much care with a dead man, but the medics treated friend and foe alike.

How on earth had it come to this? Just last night he was sharing a mug of ale with Eagle and Ben, celebrating their latest escapade and laughing at Nikita's absurd yet amusing stories. Now Eagle was dead, by Hawk's own knife. Isabella may have dealt the final blow, but Eagle's blood was still on his hands. Hawk had weakened his friend enough for Isabella to finish him off. But more than that, he should have stopped Eagle from barging in on Isabella and the man in the black cape. If Isabella really was so dangerous, if she really was a witch, they should have chosen their steps more wisely. They should not have revealed themselves so soon. But Hawk had been too upset at the time to think clearly, and neither he nor Eagle even considered the consequences of their actions.

And now Eagle was dead. Hawk still could not believe it. He knew it was true, but even truth did not seem real anymore. It was as if the world had gone mad. Or maybe he was the one who was mad; people did not turn into monsters, and there was no such thing as witches. Hawk sighed. He no longer knew what to think. And his head hurt like the devil.

Then the heavy door to the jail creaked open. Someone was coming. The heavy clomping of boots was absent from their gait, so it was not one of the men. Hawk's pulse quickened. Could it be Jessica? She would listen to him even if no one else did. And Flamekhan was bound to listen to her.

The visitor halted, still out of sight. "I would like to speak with the prisoner," said an all-too-familiar voice. Then, after a pause, "_Alone_."

"As—as you wish, Isabella," the guard stammered. He motioned with his hand, and there was a commotion as the rest of the guards followed him out of the jail.

Isabella appeared in front of his cell, but Hawk did not move. "So you've come to finish me off," he said, and steeled himself for the end. No one would ever know the truth, now. Not about Isabella, not about Eagle's death.

She laughed unpleasantly. "No, that would be too easy. No, no. You've been sentenced to death by hanging. Your execution will take place tomorrow at noon at the public gallows, in front of all your fellow thieves. That would be much more interesting that killing you outright, wouldn't it?"

In other words, she wanted to watch him writhe and suffer in the knowledge that he was being betrayed by everyone he knew. An anonymous death in the desert was not enough for her. Hawk clenched his fist, furious, but was powerless to do anything. Which made him even more furious. He stood and paced restlessly to the cell bars. "Who are you, and why are you doing this?"

Isabella smirked. "Why should I tell you, of all people? But not like it matters, because you wouldn't tell anyway. You see, the necklace I gave to Jessica is cursed. If you talk about what happened, she dies. You wouldn't want anything to happen to your pretty little friend, would you?"

Hawk snarled and lunged at Isabella through the bars. He had no choice but to accept his impending death, but involving Jessica was unforgivable. Isabella backed away, but he caught the sleeve of her silk dress. "I'll kill you," he growled. "I'll kill you, whatever it takes!"

But Isabella remained unruffled. "Careful, now," she said coolly. "Someone…might get hurt."

It was then that he saw that Isabella was wearing the twin of the necklace she had given to Jessica. She fingered the crystal-blue jewel, as though contemplating what to do next. "Careful, Hawk. I would be very careful if I were you."

Slowly, very slowly, he released her sleeve. Isabella watched as Hawk gripped the bars, struggling to come to terms with his situation. _Humans are so frail_, she thought with disdain, and she swept away, leaving the young thief to brood upon his fate.

When Isabella had gone, Hawk thought the guards would return. As far as they knew, he had murdered Flamekhan's son and was a spy to boot. But nobody came back. Hawk waited and waited, but there was no one.

Isabella had only been in Navarre for six months, but she already knew where to strike. She had seduced their leader, Flamekhan, who had been long since widowed. Instead of killing Hawk and Eagle when they discovered her plotting, she turned them against each other, leaving herself free of blame. She ensured her secret was safe by threatening Jessica, the one person Hawk would never harm. Even if Hawk was heartless enough to sacrifice Jessica for the truth, he would have killed the only person in Navarre who might still believe him.

The silence was deafening, and his thoughts chased themselves around in his head. He burned with the intense desire for revenge, but from time to time, the iciness of reality spiked through the heat of his emotion: he was going to die. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Some time later, the door creaked opened again. Hawk's spirits rose briefly—a guard, a servant, _anybody_ to break the silence of his isolation—then plummeted when hope was replaced with a sickening feeling. There were no windows, no hourglass to count the hours. A long time had passed. They were coming for him.

But there was only the sound of one person walking down the steps. A woman. Unlike last time, he was certain of her identity. He could recognize those footsteps anywhere.

Hawk stood and swiftly went to the bars. "Jessica!"

Jessica glided to his cell and stopped a few feet away, her delicate features set in a small frown. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. "Hawk…" she began, and trailed off. She seemed to struggle to find the words, but then she blurted out, "Tell me you didn't do it! Tell me you didn't kill Eagle!"

A wave relief passed through Hawk. She would listen to him, after all! "Jessica, of course I—"

But his eyes fell on the blue pendant around Jessica's neck, and his mouth became drier than sand.

Isabella's warning rang in his ears. _"Careful, Hawk. I would be very careful if I were you."_

"I…" he faltered. Seeing Jessica made him so excited that he forgot all about the necklace. The jewel gleamed wickedly in the torchlight, a demon's eye, a parasite that had latched itself around her neck. He ducked his head in defeat, his hair falling into his eyes.

When he could not deny it, Jessica's hands flew to her mouth. "Hawk," she said in a strangled voice. She backed up a step, her eyes tearful and wide with horror. "Hawk…I don't... I don't know you anymore." Without another word, she fled up the stairs.

Hawk sank to the ground and leaned his forehead on the cool metal bars of his cell. But before he could slip even further into despair, a loud tapping came from somewhere in the wall, and suddenly the world around him exploded.

Coughing from the dust, Hawk reached up to rub the back of his neck, which stung from being pelted with pebbles and pieces of rock. _What the hell?_

"_Hawk!_" someone whispered. Behind him, there was now a gaping hole where the wall used to be. A large, dust-covered cat was crouched in its opening and beckoned at Hawk.

"Nikita? How did—"

"No time to chat!" Nikita said, his voice hushed but filled with urgency. "We have to get out of here before the guards find out!"

Hawk followed Nikita into the hole, and the cat led him through a labyrinth of tunnels, holding up a small lamp to guide their way. Each intersection forked into two or three new paths, leading up or down, right or left, or any direction they desired. He never knew such a network existed. Well, that was not entirely true—there were occasional rumors about secret tunnels in the fortress, but they were passed off along the same vein as ghosts that stalked the turrets at midnight. If the tunnels really existed—which, apparently, they did—how did Nikita know about them when no one else did?

"You're probably wondering how I know about these tunnels," the cat said, as though reading Hawk's mind. "Actually, several people do, but no one ever uses them because it's too easy to get turned around in here. But with my natural sense of smell, I can't get lost. I know where each one of these tunnels leads. Of course, I haven't told anyone else, because you never know who you can trust. But you've saved my ass so many times, I figured it was safe to show you."

"Thanks, Nikita," Hawk said dryly.

"I knew you didn't do it," Nikita said, more serious now. "You and Eagle were like brothers. Everyone knows that. And that's what I don't get, how they all turned on you like that without even questioning what happened. Something's not right about that Isabella chick, either."

Hawk did not reply, fearing that even the slightest thread of truth might escape his lips and endanger Jessica. Nikita seemed to take Hawk's silence as a sign that he spoke too bluntly, so the cat kept his mouth shut the rest of the way.

Nikita halted when they reached a dead end. But instead of turning around and going back the way they came, the cat reached into his pockets and produced a key. A rectangle in the wall of rock swung away from them, and they emerged into a small storeroom, the shelves laden with bottles and herbs and various other trinkets.

"Is this…?"

"My shop," Nikita affirmed, and set the lamp on one of the shelves. "Give me your hand."

Hawk obediently held up his left hand, allowing Nikita to unwrap the bandage. The thin piece of cloth was white on the outside, but as he came closer to the wound, the rust color of dried blood started to appear, and the innermost bandage was still damp and red. Hawk's hand was exposed, a long gash stretching across his palm, the inside raw and glistening. Nikita produced a water skin and twisted off the top. "Poto oil," he said, and poured the contents over the wound.

"Poto oil?" Hawk said incredulously. Potos were mythical creatures that were said to inhabit the ice-covered countries in the north. Ice-covered countries, which also had to be a myth. The idea of any place cold enough to be covered in ice, let alone have people live there, was too absurd to be true.

"Wait, Nikita, where did you get this?" Hawk asked suspiciously, remembering the cat's fondness for exotic but questionable items. He drew his hand back, but too late. To his surprise, however, the wound seemed to pull itself closed, leaving only a thin scar.

"Through my black market contact," Nikita all but huffed, miffed at Hawk's apparent lack of faith. "I can't believe you doubted me even for a second!"

"I've been your guinea pig too many times not to know better," Hawk countered, but relieved that the oil actually did what it was supposed to do. Then he elbowed his comrade. "But poto oil? They sure suckered you good this time, bro. What's next, fairy dust?"

"Stop being such a smartass. I'm trying to help you here. Besides, it worked, didn't it?"

Suddenly, a chorus of clanging of alarm bells could be heard through the thick stone walls. "Dammit, we've been found out," Nikita hissed, shoving the poto oil—or whatever it was—and a sack of rations into Hawk's hands, and pushed him out into the store proper. "Go to the southern port. There's a ship leaving for Jad in two hours. You should be able to make it."

Hawk moved to open the door, but he paused at the threshold. "Nikita…take care of Jessica, ok? And stay away from Isabella. She's more dangerous than you know."

Nikita waved a paw dismissively. "You don't have to tell me twice. Now get going!"

So for the second time that night, Hawk made his escape into the darkness of the Navarre desert.


	3. Jad

Author's note: Remember, no pairing at this point in time is permanent. I also need to think of a better story description. Oh, and reviews are always appreciated! They let me know how I'm doing. A big Thank You to those who have already commented!

-

**Tremors of Fate**

**Chapter 3**

**Jad**

-

Ignoring the glances of curious villagers, the princess of Rolante stretched out her back on the wooden pier in Jad, feeling it pop in a release of tension. It had been a cramped, uncomfortable boat ride. Lise really didn't appreciate the stares she was getting, but she supposed it was to be expected. It wasn't every day that an Amazon left the windy peaks of Rolante to fraternize with the townfolk of the lowlands, especially in such a backwater town as Jad. Maybe she should change her clothing to fit in better with the common folk. It would make her journey easier, at the very least.

However, as Lise searched for the nearest shop, the streets were unusually empty despite it being midday. Even more ominous were the burly men who paced back and forth, from one end of the street to the other, as if they were on patrol.

_On patrol?_ Suddenly, Lise became nervous about the lance she wore strapped to her back. She had never seen such strange, feral-looking men before, and realized that they were in no way native to Jad, or she would have recognized them earlier. Her stomach sank to her feet as it occurred to her that she had just obliviously walked into an occupied city.

First things first. She spotted a tattered wooden sign bearing a painting of two crossed swords and quickly ducked into the door beneath. Carrying a lance on her back not only meant attracting attention, but trouble as well. She was loath to part with it, her only means of defense, and it would be like giving up her identity as an Amazon. But there were more pressing matters, such as finding Elliot and avenging her kingdom. Her sense of attachment to her personal effects could wait. With the money she got from selling her lance, she could always purchase another one in the next town over, provided it wasn't under martial law, either.

As soon as she entered the shop, however, she wondered if picking this particular weapon shop was a wise thing to do, because there was an armored man having a heated argument with the shopkeeper.

The man was quite young, she realized, not much older than herself. He would not have been so intimidating had it not been for the leather gauntlets and burnished breastplate—not to mention the rather large broadsword hanging from his belt. In Rolante, he would have just been another oversized bully who the Amazon warriors would have gladly put in his place, but to the citizens of Jad, he must appear rather frightening. Bellowing at the top of his voice did not help, either.

"What kind of a weapons store DOESN'T SELL ANY WEAPONS?" he fumed.

"That's what I've been trying to explain to you," the shopkeeper said, cowering behind the register. "Ever since the Beastmen took over, they confiscated all our weapons. I'm afraid I don't have the sword you're looking for."

"Then why is your store even open?"

"I have a wide selection of scabbards and hunting knives that you might be interested in. Fortunately for you, I've had to lower my prices to stay competitive, so—"

"I don't need a hunting knife, I need a SWORD!" the young warrior exploded, then stormed out the door.

When he was gone, Lise stepped up to the counter, and the bespectacled shopkeeper eyed her warily. "Excuse me," she said politely, "but since you aren't selling any weapons right now, I have one I'd like to sell to you."

But instead of enthusiastically accepting her offer as Lise expected he would, the wiry merchant frowned deeply. "Don't be ridiculous," he snapped. "The Beastmen would only take it from me and I'd be left with nothing. Less than nothing, because I'll have lost money to you as well! However, if you're that eager to get rid of it, I have no objections if you would like to donate it. And lucky for you, I have a few hunting knives in stock! This one here is popular with the ladies, and the slim hilt would fit perfectly in your hand. Not to mention this handy little feature that lets you clip the sheath on your belt—"

"No thank you," Lise said tiredly, waving away the knife in question. She had been hoping to exchange her lance for a few coins, since the ones in her purse were not going to last her forever. And as conspicuous as her weapon was, she was not about to just give it away—she might as well have thrown it into the sea. The shifty shopkeeper was more likely than not to make a profit by selling it to one of the Beastmen anyway.

"Well, it looks like I'm forced to close up shop," the man said sourly, glaring at Lise as if it was all her fault. He began to lock up the display cases, and Lise winced as he closed the lid of each one more loudly necessary. Sensing now was probably a good time to leave, she hurried out the door, which slammed behind her. As soon as she left, the shopkeeper flipped the sign in the window to read "Closed" and drew the shade.

Stung by the man's rudeness, Lise stalked down the street, trying to figure out what to do next. By now, every shop in the district had closed or was boarded up. Carefully avoiding the paths and stares of the patrolling Beastmen, she decided there was nothing for it but to find the inn.

The common room of the only inn in town, to her surprise, was bustling with activity. Scattered through the room were travelers of every shape and size, and the bar was nearly full, too. Lise guessed this was where everyone who was not a native Jadite gathered, as nothing else in town was open. Slipping into an empty seat at the corner of the bar, Lise ordered a mug of sweetly spiced ale. She had already eaten dinner—which was admittedly not the most palatable—on the ship, and it was not late enough yet for her to want to retreat to her room.

The day had gone by in such a whirlwind, she hardly had any time to sit down and think about it all. Her father was dead, and her kingdom had gone up in flames. And her brother Elliot had been kidnapped. She had failed them and lost everything in her life that was precious to her. On top of that. she had failed her country, if there was anything left of it.

Lise had never felt so orphaned before. Numb was the best way to describe her current state of mind. She had only one purpose in life, now, and that was to find Elliot. He was still alive, he had to be. She dared not think otherwise. She would find him, even if it took the rest of her life.

Lise was so lost in her thoughts that she started in surprise when the bartender slapped the bill down in front of her. Blinking away the tears that had started to gather, she looked at the piece of paper and gasped from shock.

"Twenty luc for a _drink_?"

"Business these days, ma'am. It's hard to make much of a profit what with Beastmen scaring ships from coming in to port and closing off the entrance to the city."

Shock quickly melted into disbelief, then anger at the bartender and then at herself for being so foolish as to waste money on ale, when she should be doing her best to scrape away as much as she could. There was no telling how long her gold would last, or where her next meal or bed would come from next.

With gloomy resignation, she reached into her pouch for the necessary cash. But when a male voice spoke from somewhere from her left, her hand froze. "The lady's drink is on me."

Lise looked up in time to see a slender man next to her flip a shiny twenty-luc piece to the bartender, who nodded with satisfaction and went back to serving his other patrons. Where on Gaia had _he_ come from?

Carefully, the princess appraised her savior. _No, not savior_, she thought, checking herself. Calling him her savior was a tad too generous. He was just the guy who paid for her drink.

The man next to her was decked in a rust-colored tunic and black pants, and his pale lavender hair was swept rakishly out of his eyes, the length of it wrapped into a thin, long rope that trailed down his back. Most strikingly, his skin was a deep bronze, in sharp contrast to her and the rest of the people in the room. As she paid closer attention to his appearance, however, she began to wonder how he was able to come up with that kind of cash. His boots were heavily scuffed with dust, and there was a long tear across his shirt that appeared to have been stitched up—rather crudely, in her opinion. Only the dark color of the fabric and the dim lighting of the room were able to conceal it at first glance.

But more than where the money came from, she wondered what he wanted. Leaning a little too close for comfort, he whispered conspiratorially, "If you want to leave the city, it's best to try at night. The Beastmen guards will turn into wolves, and they won't raise the alarm if you try to sneak past them." Dropping his voice even lower, he added, "They might end up attacking, though. It might in our best interest to sneak out together."

Lise pondered his proposal. Who was he, a complete stranger to ask her to accompany him on such a risky venture? Then again, she did want to get out of Jad eventually, and he seemed to know more about the situation than she did. There was something vaguely familiar about him, too, but she couldn't quite place him. Drawing back to put a little more distance between them, she nodded somewhat reluctantly.

"Meet me at the gates in an hour," he whispered. Then, straightening, he announced, "It's a date, then!" Sliding fluidly off his stool, he gave her a deep bow. "My lady, we shall meet again at our appointed time," he said, and disappeared into the bustling throng.

Lise felt the color rising to her cheeks as the heads of nearby patrons turned to stare at her. What must they think, with her agreeing to meet with a stranger so late at night? Announced so publicly, too! Of all bold-faced, impertinent things…!

-

Nevertheless, one hour later found Lise walking alone on the dark streets of Jad. Crossing a deserted intersection, she began to wonder, not for the first time, if she should be doing this. She had only just met the man, and now she was going to rendezvous with him all alone, and in the middle of the night, no less! Well, middle of the night was not exactly correct, as it was only nine-o-clock, but it was dark enough that it might as well be. Paying for her drink was a nice thing for him to do, but he clearly wanted something out of it. Besides, it wasn't as if she couldn't have paid for it herself. But she _did _let him pay, and she _did _agreed to meet him at the city gate. She couldn't go back on her promise. She sighed. At least she had the comforting weight of the lance hanging from her back.

Lise crossed another empty intersection. That was another thing making her nervous: the lack of any guards anywhere. The mysterious man in the bar had said that the Beastmen turned into wolves at night. She glanced down side streets and alleyways for signs of anything skulking in the darkness, and drew her lance for good measure. It wasn't that she was afraid of being attacked, necessarily—her skill with the lance was unmatched in Rolante—but she did not relish the thought of being set upon by a pack of wolves.

Thankfully, Jad was not a large city. The city gate shortly came into view, the stout wooden doors standing wide open, the archway between them eerily empty. The lavender-haired man was nowhere in sight. _Just as I thought_, she muttered silently to herself. He didn't seem all that reliable to begin with. Even though she was relieved to be free of the bronze-skinned stranger, she couldn't help feeling slightly disappointed. Walking through deserted streets had an unsettling effect, and it would have been nice to have some company at least.

"Pssst!" came a hiss from a cluster of barrels. Lise cautiously edged her way around them, and sure enough, the lavender-haired man was crouched there in the shadows. "Glad to see you could make it," he said as she knelt down next to him. "There were four guards at this gate, but a little while ago, a man with a sword took down two of them and ran off. There was a girl with a staff with him, too. The other two guards are around somewhere, but I haven't seen them in a long time."

Lise was dumbfounded. "How long have you been sitting here?"

He shrugged casually. "Long enough to plan our escape. The remaining guards are in wolf form now, so they're probably roaming somewhere beyond the gate. We need to slip out quickly, and if they attack us, we can fight them outside the city without causing a ruckus."

All this talk about fighting was fine with Lise, but what was the man going to do, strangle the wolves with his bare hands? He didn't have a sword or club or anything remotely resembling a weapon. Lise drew her lance and rested it on her shoulder. So this was why he had enlisted her help, Lise thought with exasperation.

"All right, let's go," she said, already resigned that she was going to be the one to get them out of there. At least he had the foresight to study their escape route. "Stay close to me, though. I don't want you getting hurt."

"With pleasure, my lady," he said, managing a small bow despite being crouched in cramped quarters.

Was it her imagination, or was he mocking her? As princess of Rolante, she never had this kind of behavior directed at herself and had only observed it with other people. Not quite sure how to respond, she simply got to her feet and started walking.

She made it through the city gates without incident. The tree branches swayed like stiff, feathery hands, as if the nighttime had given the trees a more threatening personality. The idea of wolves lurking in the bushes did not sit well with her, either. But worse than her being alone was the nameless man being alone, and it was then that she realized he had not followed her.

Lise turned around and called, "Hey, where—eek!" She gave a small shriek as she nearly bumped noses with him.

"What? I'm right here."

"Wh—where did you come from?"

He frowned in puzzlement. "I've been behind you the whole time." Then he grinned, the first time she had seen him smile. "You said to stay close, so I did."

Well, he didn't have to take her words so literally. Lise shook her head, trying to clear it. The man's strange behavior was becoming a distraction. Maybe she should have gone ahead to clear the way, after all.

She hefted her lance, peering for any signs of movement in the shadows. "Just keep an eye out, ok?"

No sooner had the words left her mouth did a dark, growling shape bound out of nowhere, leaping for her throat. Instinctively, she flipped her wrist and ducked, the pole of her lance windmilling and slamming the wolf to the ground. The animal whimpered, but it tumbled to the side and was back on its feet in a split-second. It lunged at her again, but this time Lise took the initiative. She ran to meet it and speared the beast's throat on the blade of her lance. Her weapon suddenly became heavy with the wolf's dead weight, and she tossed the body to the side, where it lay in a heap of fur and blood. Heart pounding with adrenaline, she whirled to face the other wolf, which was sure to be drawn to the scuffle. Fighting beasts was nothing new to her, but the needlebirds in Rolante were nowhere near this fast.

But instead of coming face-to-face with another snarling wolf, she found the man kneeling next to a second dead wolf, wiping off two long daggers on its hide. However, Lise did not notice how deftly he handled the weapons, nor how the blades seemed to disappear altogether when he sheathed them at his waist. She did not notice these things because she remembered, finally remembered, why he seemed so familiar.

"Don't move another inch," she said through gritted teeth, pointing the sharp end of her lance at him. She should have known. His garb, his skin, the way he moved so quickly and soundlessly. That stance, those blades, were the most telling clue. How could she have missed it before? "If you have any last words, now would be the time to say them, because I am about to send you to the Goddess."

"Whoa, wait a minute," he protested, but to his credit, he did not even flinch. "Before you do that, do you mind telling me what's going on?"

"Don't play dumb, thief," she hissed. "I've lost my father, my brother, and my home because of you. And now you're here to finish the job, but you'll find that the princess of Rolante is no easy prey."

The thief's dark face paled at the mention of Rolante. "Rolante…_fell?_"

"Don't act so surprised, desert scum," Lise spat. "Now that I've seen through your act, there's nowhere to run."

"I assure you that I had no part in it," he replied, a hard expression briefly crossing his face.

But the Amazon could not be placated. "But you knew about it! That makes you equally guilty!" Blind with rage, she could only envision him as one the faceless raiders of Navarre who slaughtered her countrymen. She rushed the thief, who bounded out of the way, grabbed onto a low-hanging branch, and flipped himself into a tree.

"Get down here and face me, you coward!" Lise shrieked, shaking her lance at the thief, who had scrambled to a safer altitude.

But he held a finger to his lips and shushed her. "If you keep this up, every Beastman in Jad will come running and then we'll really be in trouble."

Lise scowled, but he was right. "Fine," she said, and sheathed her lance. She grasped the same branch he had used, and tried to walk her feet up the trunk. But the bark was damp and slippery, and she lost her grip and fell into a heap. So instead, she straightened herself out with what remaining dignity she could muster and settled for watching the scoundrel from the base of the tree.

After some time, he spoke again. "Listen, at this rate, neither of us is ever going to leave Jad. Either you have to trust me and let me down, or the Beastmen will find us in the morning and throw us in jail."

The thief didn't sound terribly thrilled about the latter option, and neither did Lise. "Fine," she said. "I'll let you down, and we'll settle this in the woods."

He dropped out of the tree and landed next to her. "How about we work together and try to reach the next town?"

"Work together?" Lise said incredulously. "With an assassin?"

That hard look flitted across his face again. "I told you, I'm not—" he started to say, but cut his sentence short. "What I'm trying to say is that if I wanted to assassinate you, I would have done it a long time ago. There were plenty of opportunities to do so before we came all the way out here. But that's not why I'm here."

"Then why _are _you here?" Lise demanded, lance at the ready.

"I couldn't help being drawn to your beauty," he said, flashing her a roguish grin.

"Watch it, thief," Lise warned, pointing the blade at his face. She was not about to accept his rationalization just like that, nor was she so easy to distract. She was not some air-headed woman he had picked up in a bar. Although…he _had_ picked her up, hadn't he? Technically speaking. Face growing hot, Lise tightened her grip on the lance. _I was NOT picked up! I simply agreed to go with him! I—_

"I'm going to Wendel to find out how to remove a curse that was placed on my friend."

His response was so far off from anything Lise had expected to hear that she lowered her weapon, astonished. "Wendel?"

"Yeah," he said, shrugging. "They say the Priest of Light can lift curses and cure illnesses."

He sounded like he might actually be telling the truth. "All right, I'll come with you," she conceded. She was going to Wendel, too, but she wasn't about to tell him that. "But I'm warning you, I'll be watching your every move."

The thief had the nerve to grin again. "I'm so flattered. Please, be my guest." Then, putting his hands behind his head, he sauntered off unconcernedly into the dark woods.

"Hey, wait—don't just walk away from me!" Lise hurried to catch up with him, not wanting to let him out of her sight and, though she would never admit it, not wanting to be left behind.


	4. Memories of a Princess

Author's Note: A belated thank-you to reviewers Ovo, anonymous, Wildfire Dreams, Hawk of Navarre, and Sinnatious for their encouragement and in-depth analyses ;)

-

**Tremors of Fate**

**Chapter 4**

**Memories of a Princess**

-

They walked in silence, the Amazon princess and the thief. Lise anxiously scanned the foliage around them, but the thief from Navarre acted as if they were just out for a stroll. Lise made him carry the lantern—if only to leave both hands free to wield her lance—which he dangled casually by one finger. Lise did not know which irritated her more, his complete lack of concern for their surroundings or his complete lack of concern for her lance.

She studied her companion, making sure he was always in her sight. Their situation suddenly struck her as very odd. What was she, the princess of the Amazons, doing wandering the woods with a low-born thief? And what was this desert thief doing so far from his home? Desert people rarely left their part of Eztia, and he would stick out like a sore thumb wherever he went. She couldn't imagine why he would leave his guild. Weren't there repercussions for just abandoning them like that? Yet his reason for leaving was so bizarre, it just might be true.

Nevertheless, he was a thief, and he was from Navarre. She still couldn't be sure he wasn't sent here to kill her as well. The desert thieves' guild was not known for their mercy. Or for being terribly upstanding.

After a long time, he spoke again. "So, princess, do you have a name?"

She bristled at his directness. "…Lise," she said after a moment. "Lise del Vanadis." He already knew who she was, so what difference would it make if he knew her name? Besides, he _had _helped her out, she grudgingly admitted. If it had not been for him, she wouldn't have been able to escape Jad. Not from lack of skill, certainly, no. He happened to know about the guards, that was all.

Lise was tempted to ignore him after that, but unfortunately her royal upbringing had instilled in her better manners than that. "And what is yours?"

"Hawkeye of Navarre at your service," he said with a bow. "But you can call me Hawk."

The princess raised an eyebrow. "What kind of a name is that? Code for something, perhaps? Like thieving?"

The so-called Hawk attempted to look hurt. "You wound me, Your Highness. My adopted father gave me that name."

"Adopted father? What happened to your real family?"

He shrugged. "I never knew them. My earliest memory is begging for coppers in the streets."

Oh. Perhaps she shouldn't pry so far.

Lise gave herself a shake. How had she gone from giving the thief the barest of responses to asking about his life to feeling sorry for him? He may still want to kill her, despite his claims to the contrary. And he was a _thief_.

She casually switched her lance from one hand to the other, the point slanting in Hawk's direction. He did not notice, or if he did, he gave no sign of it.

They passed the weathered signpost that pointed to Jad in the north, Astoria to the south. They should reach Astoria soon, Lise hoped. There, Hawk would either want to stay the night or keep going. If he wanted to spend a night at the inn, Lise would pretend agree, then leave for Wendel after he was asleep. If he wanted to continue on, she would stay in Astoria. In either case, she would be free of his company. Yes, it was a good plan.

Suddenly, Hawk stopped in his tracks. Lise gave a small yelp as she almost bumped into him for the second time that day.

"What—" she started to say.

Hawk motioned her to stay quiet. Lise crouched, ready for anything. Were they about to be attacked? Were there wolves lurking the forest? Bandits, perhaps?

Soon, though, the reason for Hawk's caution made itself apparent. Voices drifted from somewhere off to the right, where the road appeared to fork, and were coming nearer.

"So, what's class changing?" said a distinctly female voice.

"It's supposed to make you stronger," said another, this one deeper and somehow familiar.

"Yes, but how? What does it _do_?"

"I don't know," the male voice admitted.

"You should ask...you know. Her."

There was a pause. "I think she's asleep. Or something."

"Try to wake her up, then!" said the female voice, getting a little petulant now.

"I don't know if that's a good idea right—" her companion replied, then broke off as he suddenly realized that they were not alone. The woman with him gave a little gasp when she realized the same thing a split second later.

The two pairs of travelers carefully observed each other in the glow of their lantern light. Lise recognized the man from the weapons store, but she had never seen the girl before. The girl did not seem to be native to this part of Eztia, however, since no self-respecting citizen of Jad or Astoria—and certainly not Wendel—would be caught dead in a dress with such a generous display of skin. Unless, of course, she was…a lady of the evening. But what was someone like her doing out here in the middle of the woods, in the dead of night?

Warily eyeing Lise's weapon, the man seemed torn between drawing his sword or letting them pass, so Hawk took advantage of the awkward silence.

"Good evening, fair travelers," he said smoothly. "Hawk of Navarre at your service. This is my companion—"

"Lise del Vanadis of Rolante," Lise cut in brusquely, "and I am not his companion. I am the princess of the Amazon nation and general of the Winged Falcon army. This man was sent to kill me. He's a scoundrel and a thief, and his men looted and burned my kingdom to the ground."

Exclamations of shock erupted from the newcomers, and the swordsman drew his blade, advancing menacingly on Hawk. "Is this true?" he demanded.

"Actually, she tried to kill me first," the thief pointed out.

"This is an outrage!" the swordsman declared with righteous anger. "An attempt on the life of the Princess and destroying her home! Prepare to pay for your crimes!"

He swung at the thief's midsection, but Hawk darted out of the way. "Now, wait a second," Hawk said, vainly trying to make himself heard, but the other man seemed more inclined to avenge Lise single-handedly.

"Don't you think we should…oh, turn him in instead?" Lise also said, beginning to feel nervous. Despite Lise's feelings on the subject of Navarre thieves, the swordsman was a little too enthusiastic about shortening Hawk's life for her comfort. Besides, she should be the one exacting vengeance for her people, not a man she barely knew. "Listen...ah..." she protested—rather ineffectively, as the swordsman never told her his name.

"Please stop, Duran," said the other girl, her voice sounding oddly faint. So that was his name. Duran.

A bright light suddenly appeared out of Duran's helmet and hovered fitfully before his face. "Duran! Put your sword away this instant!"

Then Lise realized that it was not Duran's female companion who had spoken, after all. "Did—did that firefly just say something?" Lise stuttered.

Even the unflappable Hawk had his mouth open. "Did that thing come out of your _head_?"

Fortunately for Hawk, the speck of light commanded enough authority for Duran to halt in his mission. "Sorry, Fairy," he apologized. "But I can't just let a criminal walk free."

The Fairy briefly hovered in front of Hawk, then fluttered over to Lise. The otherworldly creature stood no higher than a sparrow, and her delicate silver tresses flowed over an similarly delicate, shimmering dress. Four ethereal wings arising from her back made Lise think of a luminous butterfly.

"I don't understand," the Fairy murmured before darting back to Duran. "According to the prophecy, there are only supposed to be three Mana heroes. Yet..."

"What's wrong, Fairy?" Duran's companion finally spoke. "What prophecy?"

"The ancient prophecy that tells of an uprising against the Mana Goddess. Three heroes will attain the Mana Sword and save Mana from disappearing from this world. I have already sought out you and Duran. One of these two must be the third hero, but I cannot tell which one. They both appear equal in their potential, but there is no mention of a fourth person."

"Equal in potential?" Lise echoed. She had no idea what this Fairy was going on about, but the idea of being compared to Hawk—as his _equal!_—rankled Lise to no end. "Me, equal with this desert thief?"

"But there is so much more to being a Mana hero than potential," the Fairy said quickly, noting Lise's stormy expression. "You need to have an honest heart, pure intentions, and strength of will to be a champion of the Goddess. If you lack these qualities, you will surely fail."

Although Lise was somewhat mollified, she still glared at Hawk. How did he have the nerve to—to—just _stand _there as if being compared to an Amazon warrior was the most normal thing in the world? And honest heart and pure intentions? He was a thief, for Goddess's sake!

By now, everyone else was staring at him, too. "Well, I can always tell when I'm not wanted," he said, shrugging. "It was good knowing you, Lise. Perhaps we will meet again someday."

With a grand flourish, Hawk tossed his lantern high into the air, leaving Lise in momentary darkness. She leaped back as the lantern came down and smashed at her feet, the oil pooling in the grass, bursting into flame before burning itself out.

By the time she recovered from her surprise, Hawk was gone. The scoundrel had distracted them with the lantern to make his getaway! "Hawk!" she yelled furiously, running into the surrounding darkness. "Hawk! Get back here, you dirty thief!"

The forest brightened around her, and there was a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Princess. I won't let that thief lay a hand on you."

"Thank you," she replied evenly, though she bristled slightly. Telling her not to worry. Who was worried? A mere thief was not going to get the better of Lise del Vanadis, leader of the Amazon army.

But when she saw the concern on Duran's face, she instantly regretted for being so resentful. Clearly, he was only thinking of her welfare and would certainly be a more tolerable traveling companion than Hawk. She wouldn't have to keep such a close eye on him, and she wouldn't feel like his every word was mocking her.

The woman in the generously cut dress spoke up. "Lise, I never expected to run into you here, in the middle of the woods of all places."

In all the excitement, Lise had forgotten about the woman that came with Duran. The woman's casual manner struck the Amazon as unusual. Lise was not such a stickler for tradition that she expected to be called "Princess" by everyone, but most people did not drop the honorific right after being introduced for the first time. Even more interestingly, the woman wore ornaments made of carved ivory and rare gems in her dark violet hair. Who was she, and how had she come by such fine jewelry?

"I don't believe we've met. Who might you be?" Lise said.

The purple-haired woman laughed girlishly. "Oh, of course you don't remember! For crying out loud, I didn't even recognize you when I saw you. Princess Angela of Altena," she said with a curtsy. "It's been a while, Lise."

"It certainly has, Angela," Lise murmured, curtsying in turn. Her only memory of Angela was almost ten years ago and was vague at best, the impression of an imperious young girl in ribbons and frills that showed off her creamy complexion. Now it seemed that Angela had dispensed with the frills to show off the rest of her, too. _I shouldn't be so quick to judge_, Lise thought in admonishingly. _Maybe dresses like that are the trend in Altena these days._

"I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced," Duran said. "I am Duran Belgara, the best swordsman of Forcena, son of Loki Belgara, the legendary Knight of Gold and retainer to King Richard. Pleased to be at your service, Princess."

"Pleased to meet your acquaintance," Lise replied. She not sure what else to say to such a long string of titles.

The Fairy, who had decided to join in the ritual of introductions, alighted on Duran's helmeted head. "And I am the fairy messenger for the Mana Goddess, who is in grave danger."

"Pleased to meet you," Lise said courteously. She did not think it was possible to top Duran's introduction, but the Fairy did just that. "Why is the Goddess in danger?"

"Are you familiar with the legend of Mana?"

Lise nodded. It was an old story, a tale that every child had grown up on, a legend that was passed down to each generation.

At the beginning of time, the Mana Goddess created Gaia and every living creature that roamed upon it. She permitted Time to take Gaia within its flow in order for the world to change and grow, for humans and fields alike to live, die, and be born anew. Eight Elements ruled the skies, earth and seas with impartial wisdom. However, the peaceful balance of Gaia could not be maintained forever; the humans soon discovered that both love and treachery could bring them their hearts' deepest desires. Once the split between good and evil was formed, it consumed the rest of Gaia and even the Elements themselves, giving birth to the God-beasts. The God-beasts were fearsome monsters, merciless and full of hate, the empty shells of the Elements that had become separated from their souls. Having forgotten what they once were, they rampaged across the land, destroying the life the Goddess had created, leaving deserts and wastelands in their wake.

Thus, using her own Mana essence, the Goddess forged a mighty Sword, battled the God-beasts, and sealed them away in prisons of stone. She gathered the souls of the Elements and commanded them to guard the Mana stones. Then, using the last of her strength, she retreated to her abode in the Mana Holyland, where she transformed herself into a tree, the oldest and wisest of all living creatures. There she would rest until great need came to Gaia again, until the end of Time itself.

"Once again, I am impressed by how faithfully this world has preserved the legend," the Fairy said, giving her wings a satisfied flick. "The effort of sealing the God-beasts was so draining that the Goddess will not have replenished her strength for several millennia to come. However, instead of growing and thriving, the Mana Tree has begun to wither. For a long time, I did not want to believe it. But there is a great disturbance in the land, and the Goddess's strength continues to fade. The Mana Tree is dying."

"The Mana Tree is dying?" Lise repeated. "But isn't the Goddess is supposed to be immortal?"

The Fairy lifted off from Duran's helmet and fluttered in the air with agitated energy. "She is, as long as Mana exists in this world."

"But I thought the Goddess was the source of Mana," Angela protested, not understanding, and Lise was just as confused.

"The essence of the Goddess herself is Mana," the Fairy agreed, who now flitted anxiously back and forth, which Lise presumed was the fairy equivalent of pacing. "Something is draining it away, and we must put a stop to it or Mana will disappear from this world forever."

"If Mana disappears, what will happen then?" Angela asked, although they all had a pretty good idea what the Fairy was implying.

"Magic will disappear as well," the Fairy said gravely. Then she looked at Duran. "And class-changing will become impossible."

Duran only frowned and grunted.

"But more importantly, the world will slowly wither away, just as the Mana Tree is doing."

They pondered the Fairy's words in silence. Proclaimed Mana hero or not, Lise had no obligation to help the Fairy or the Mana Goddess. However, trying to find Elliot was pointless if there was nothing left of Gaia in the end. But if something happened to him while she was wrapped up in the Fairy's quest, she would never be able to forgive herself.

_Perhaps the best thing to do would be to accompany them for a while_, she thought. _They may lead me to Elliot along the way. If it takes too long, though, I can always go off and look for him on my own._

The Fairy returned to Duran's head to rest from her journey from the Holyland, and the trio of humans went on their way to Astoria. It turned out that Angela and Duran were headed for Wendel as well: Angela to discover how to use magic, and Duran to find out how to class change. Lise was surprised at Angela's lack of magical talent—she was the princess of Altena, after all. But it seemed to be a sensitive topic for her, so Lise didn't press the issue. Duran, however, talked incessantly about he was going to beat Koren to a bloody pulp after he class changed, though he still wasn't sure what class changing involved. But once he did it, he was going to show that cowardly bastard how a true warrior fights, and along with Angela's unladylike threats about what she was going to do when she found him, Lise gathered that the Red Wizard Koren was not a popular character.

When the trees began to thin out around them, Angela suddenly said, "What's that smell? It's like something's burning."

The princess of Altena must have a very sensitive nose, because Lise did not notice the faint smokiness in the air until Angela brought it up. "Now that you mention it..."

"We're almost at Astoria," said Duran forebodingly.

Indeed, there were satchels and lantern poles strewn about and even the occasional wheelbarrow. It was as if their owners had left them behind in haste.

Lise was starting to feel uneasy, as well. The acrid scent of smoke grew ever thicker, and as the forest floor gave way to a well-traveled dirt road, their steps quickened. The thin light of daybreak had made lanterns unnecessary by this point, and it was probably the reason why the glow of Astoria's fate was hidden from them earlier.

The three travelers stumbled upon a scene from another world: charred frames of houses stood, half-collapsed, like awkward skeletons awash in a dark, malevolent fog. The ground beneath Lise swayed, and she found herself on her knees, her eyes stinging from the smoke.

When she blinked away the tears, she was in the throne room of Rolante, the stone floor cold beneath her hands. Shouts and sounds of fighting rang through the corridors. Thick smoke filled the air, but she could just make out the outline of the throne at the end of the room. _What am I doing just sitting around? I have to reach Father!_

Lise staggered to her feet, not understanding why it was suddenly so hard to walk. Her feet felt like they were anchored to the ground by a great weight. But she was moving down the large room, and her father was seated at the throne on the dais. _Father…let me reach you, so I can protect you…_

But as she drew nearer, she sensed something was amiss. Despite his blindness, her father had always been able to perceive the presence of those around him, especially if their connections with him were strong. But he did not appear to notice that she was in the room, or that she was desperately running toward him. His blind eyes stared blankly and he was slumped at an odd angle on the throne.

"Father!"

His milky white gaze turned at her voice, and Lise saw with horror the deep wound in the side of his neck. Blood flowed freely down his scarlet robe, staining the ivory wings of Rolante's royal crest embroidered on his tunic.

"Father!" she cried again, and cradled his graying head in her hands.

"Lise…I'm so glad…you're safe," he said, every breath harsh and labored. "Elliot has been captured by the Navarre demons…run away from…this place…and…find…him…"

Lise shook her head furiously. "No, Father! I must stay and drive out the intruders! An Amazon does not abandon her people!"

Somewhere behind her, there was the sound of solitary applause. "Spoken like a true princess of Rolante," said a mocking voice.

Lise whirled around. At the foot of the dais stood a rather alluring woman clad in silk skirts and a shawl and little else. "A noble death for a noble king and his daughter!" the seductress crowed. "But unfortunately for you, my dear princess, the drama ends here. By the fury of Xan Bie, I will turn this castle to ash!"

Before Lise could do anything, the woman raised her hand in an imperious gesture. The world exploded into flame, and Lise knew nothing more.

-

Don't worry, Hawk won't be gone forever. Please review :)


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